Me Vs Writer's Fear
by dederants
Summary: A short story about me conquering Writer's Block or, as I see it, Writer's Fear.


"Complete and utter nonsense!"

"What do you mean?"

"How could you think of doing such a thing?" said the verbal abuser, completely colored in a rich, jewel-tone green.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"THIS STORY! THESE IDEAS… ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS RUBBISH!" The venom was in my face, spitting its poison at me.

"How can you say such a thing?"

"I can say such a thing because such a feat is IMPOSSIBLE, especially for YOU!" It knows me all too well, and how I start things without finishing them. What a blow.

"I thought you'd have a little more faith in me when it came to this. You know I love to write—"

"This writing is a WASTE OF TIME! There are other things for you to focus on and make some income in the meantime. Can't do that with writing, can you?"

"YES I CAN! IT'S POSSIBLE!"

"NO, IT IS NOT, YOU STUPID GIRL! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE CLOUDS AND DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE!" I've heard this same line a few too many times, and this nuisance would be the last I've heard of it, I was sure.

"You are being absolutely asinine. Why would you say such things to me? Don't you care at all about my happiness?"

"YOU WILL NOT BE HAPPY DOING THIS SO-CALLED WRITING HOGWASH! I DEMAND THAT YOU CUT IT OUT AND DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR LIFE!" The venom was creating really nasty thoughts to destroy my way of thinking, and they were starting to wear me down emotionally, but I was defiant. I had to be.

"No."

"NO? HOW DARE YOU DEFY ME! AFTER ALL I'VE DONE FOR YOU!"

"You've done nothing but insult my intelligence and put me down to make yourself feel better. You're jealous because there are things that you'd like to have done in your life, but were too fucking scared to do them, and because you were so worried about how it would affect the people around you. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR ME THAT I SHOULD WARRANT GIVING UP MY DREAMS TO DO WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO?" I screamed, a wince sweeping over my face. Though it felt good coming out, it was also soon very painful, and I realized that I wasn't just talking to the venom, but to myself as well.

"INSOLENT, RUDE, DISRESPECTFUL… GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! NOW!"

"Why should I leave when this is my house? This body is my domain, and I should do as I damn well please. I think you're the one that should be leaving, don't you think?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This venom, calling my santuary home, and demanding that I should leave.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITHOUT ME? HOW WILL YOU SURVIVE?"

"I have my ways."

"WHAT ARE THESE SO-CALLED 'WAYS'?"

"That's none of your business."

"I AM NOT LEAVING! YOU ARE!"

"Try me."

As the villain ordered me to leave, I stood in the same spot, undeterred. There was no way this bastard was gonna kick me out of my own brain, out of my thoughts, the imagination that I owned. I'm the sole proprietor of this property. This son-of-a-bitch will soon be on his way out.

I thought of several ways of getting rid of the vermin: I could shoot and kill it, poison it, beat and kick the shit out of it. No, I need something unique, something that would blow it away, never to be seen again. I prepared my brain to formulate the plot, and then it happened.

A strong gust of wind hit the front side of the house I mentally constructed earlier, based on pictures I'd seen online. I then heard the sound of glass cracking; the windows were giving way due to the pressure the gusty winds were putting on them. The door burst open on its own accord, and the venom began flying around the room like a ragdoll. Fortunately, the gusts didn't move my body, with the exception of my shoulder-length hair and clothes, both of which were flapping in the strong wind. I walked towards one of the cracked windows and looked out to see a giant tornado coming towards the house, sucking up everything in its path. It came to take its prisoner away, the venom that had infected my brain for so long and interrupted its creative core. So many stories and ideas, wasted because of self-doubt, laziness, guilt for not writing them down and continuing them for either just myself or other people to read and enjoy.

The once-infectious and powerful venom bellowed a cry similar to that of a hungry and wet cat, pathetic and weak, as it was thrashed about by the winds of the coming twister. It was losing its color as well, thanks to the fear that was settling itself in the being's veins, its prior emerald greenish color fading to a pale heather gray.

A wave of confidence came over me, a familiar feeling that I'd missed out on for years. The house was so stuffy before the tornado made its appearance; now the furious breeze felt cool against my face. If only it were raining…

The ghost that haunted me for so long was being sucked out of the house through the front door, but grabbed the door frame, holding on for dear life. I walked over to the venom,mere inches from its ugly mug, stared it down, streaming fear through my gaze.

"Listen to me," I said in the calmest my voice has been the whole time, through my grinding teeth. "You… will NEVER… bother me, threaten me, or come ANYWHERE near me ever again. I've gone too long with living in my thoughts and not documenting them out of pure laziness or self-doubt, and I refuse to live like that anymore. My stories will go on, whether I take them to the grave or the whole world gets to experience them. I shouldn't have to live in fear of ANYONE or ANYTHING or let it run my life any longer. Goodbye."

I slammed the door and ran to the neighboring window; the venom that invaded my dreams, ran through my veins, slowly ruined my life, was now being sucked up by the vicious twister. The funnel then began to weaken over a period of three to five seconds after its feeding, ultimately thinning out and vanishing into thin air. The venom was gone. Like it had never existed. I was happy, calm. The weight of all the negativity I've felt over time lifted itself off of my shoulders. I felt like I could write anything, but I was exhausted. That venom took a lot out of me, but rest and dreams could quickly replenish me and bring me back to life.


End file.
